


the chronicles of stiles' sofa

by Donatello (jollypuppet)



Series: the chronicles of stiles' sofa [20]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Developing Romance, Fluff, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollypuppet/pseuds/Donatello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, Stiles is glad that nobody wrote a book on this. It means he can do it himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the chronicles of stiles' sofa

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is -- the last part of _the chronicles of stiles' sofa_.
> 
> I was gonna be really mushy and talk about glad I was that you all liked it so much, but I figured that would be really lame. 
> 
> So, instead -- thank you.

There's a list of things that Stiles knows about Derek Hale. It's not a very long list, and it's not a very detailed list, either, but it's a list, nonetheless. It could probably use some more work, probably use some more revision, but it's his list, and he likes it the way it is.

He doesn't include how Derek is a male or a werewolf or twenty-two on that list, because those are the mundane things that everybody knows. He could get that information out of anybody, but there's certain things about Derek that you can only learn through experience.

There's the fact that his skin seems to get just a bit darker when its wet, and it's tantalizing and inviting, like someone painted him straight onto a canvas only moments ago. There's his odd pet peeve of having his shoes face the same way when he takes them off, and there's the way his eyelashes flutter if you touch the patches of skin behind his ears.

There's odd little things that Stiles like to think that only he's ever experienced -- how Derek seems to be horribly irked by static, or how much he likes flat root beer. The way his arms curl protectively around Stiles, even when he's sleeping, almost as if to engulf him and keep him warm, and the way his entire body rattles when Stiles touches his hips.

Derek sometimes like to listen to The Doobie Brothers in the Camaro, and he'll occasionally have forgotten to take the CD out when Stiles climbs in, and the whole car will rock with the sounds of _Black Water_ and Stiles' laughter. And sometimes, when Derek gets tired enough, he gets affectionate to the point of _nuzzling_ , which sounds weird, but is actually quite nice when you're exhausted and curled up inside a dark, rain-drenched living room with a human radiator as a blanket.

Stiles likes to think that he knew plenty about Derek to begin with -- like the basic story behind the death of his family, and his falling out with Peter Hale. But there are things that Stiles just _knows_ he wouldn't have learned if it hadn't been for this... thing that had developed between them.

He wouldn't have learned that, yes, Derek goes to the diner down the street to get his signature cinnamon tea, but he's been buying a few bags in advance for a while, on the off chance that Stiles ever gets sick. He wouldn't have learned that Derek likes Stephen King.  


He wouldn't have learned about the abandoned amusement park.

He wouldn't have learned that Derek knew Cyprus, years and years ago.

Stiles ends up seeing Cyprus when his dad throws a cookout to commemorate the beginning of summer and invites his friends from work along. Cyprus hasn't been used as a police dog in about a year, now, and it's obvious that the dog's getting old, but Stiles does just as he always does and sits himself down on his back porch.

A few minutes later, Cyprus walks over to him, slow and steady, and perches himself right next to Stiles on the steps.

It almost gives him whiplash, how odd this picture seems now. Since the last time he saw Cyprus, a lot more has happened to him than the universe really should have allowed. There's Derek, and Seattle, and the hill, and everything else, and yet this dog is just getting older and older, wiser and wiser, while Stiles just moves on ahead.

Stiles realizes that he's actually a lot younger than Cyprus is, in one way or another.

But the dog ends up bending its creaky bones and lying down as opposed to sitting -- he's in good health, but tired, like dogs that age tend to be -- and he curls his head around so that his snout ends up on Stiles' lap.

Stiles doesn't know how to react for a moment, because, really, you would think that a police dog would still be on the defensive, even after retirement, but... there he is. There Cyprus is, snout and droopy eyes and all, right on Stiles' right thigh.

The fact of the matter, really, is that Stiles is surprised by how touching it is.

So he brings his hand down to pat Cyprus -- right on the top of his head, gently, pushing his fur and his ears back, and the dog closes its eyes in contentment. It hits Stiles that this is the first time he's ever petted Cyprus -- the first time he's ever touched him, even. He's not exactly sure when he formed a bond like this with a dog that isn't even _his_ , but... he did.

Cyprus ends up falling asleep there, and Stiles sits on his porch and watches the sun set through the black silhouette of the trees. His leg ends up going numb and his back gets sore, but he smiles and sits through it.

The dog has always been loyal. Adamant. Unmoving.

Stiles figures it's about time he returned the favor.

\--

When June rolls around and the school days start to become less serious, the homework load lightening and the after school activities dwindling, Stiles finds himself, more often than not, in the library.

He really can't help it -- Scott and Allison are making plans for the summer, and, what, is he supposed to hang out with Danny or something? (He'd totally love to hang out with Danny, but he's not sure the sentiment is mutual.) So he heads to the library, where he spent so many of his rainy March days perusing the movie collection, with his overdue copies in his backpack and a smile on his face.

The sweet old lady isn't there to greet him -- it's a sharper-looking woman, with thin features and narrow glasses, who explains to him that the old librarian went to live with her daughter due to health problems. Stiles frowns, but figures that it mustn't be any of his business (but, really, he's not sure why he's upset.) He hands his DVDs over the counter and gets a slip in return.

It's the first time he's ever gotten a late fee from the library.

It's not that bad -- only a couple of dollars -- but it's still enough to bring him down a bit. He ends up sulking over to the DVD wall again to look through the titles, but, surprisingly, he skims over... a lot of familiar covers.

Right in the middle is _Underworld: Awakening_ , and farther off to the side is _Coraline_. _Black Swan_ and _Jonah Hex_ are right next to each other, a few rows away from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_.

It's a lot of the same old, same old. A lot of stuff he's already seen, and the slip in his pocket starts to burn through his mind.

He ends up leaving the library without taking anything out. He can't help but feel like his punctuality has gotten so bad with returning things that it'll only cost him more money to take out movies, so he figures it's a lost cause.

 _Well. I think I can live with that_. But he's not so sure that he's telling the truth.

\--

Derek doesn't go to the hill without him anymore, he's found out. He never ended up asking Derek, or even telling him to stay behind, but ever since they went to Seattle, Derek doesn't go there on his own. Stiles wonders if he should consider it a step forward, or a step backward, but then --

"Until you're able to go to that amusement park as often as I can come here," Derek mumbles as they lean against that twisted tree, their fingers tangled together in the blue-green grass, "I won't come here without you." 

Stiles' smile is small, but it means a whole lot, that's for sure. Derek kisses his temple.

They have a habit of sitting in silence. It's just what they do, really. Conversation doesn't belong here, not when it's just the two of them and that tree and the Camaro and the Jeep. There are holes of light in the sky and a mist around their shoulders, whispering to them stories of young boys, afraid of thunderstorms, and games of rummy in the attic.

Stiles hasn't believed that his mother's spirit or soul or ghost or whatever has been up here in a while. There are memories of her, and a certain essence, but not her soul, not that graceful glimmer of light that was buried so deeply inside of her that only cancer could drag it out. He likes to think she's long since moved on, gone on to better things -- that she's happier and wiser, that she doesn't worry or fear.

Maybe she's one of those pinpricks of light, huddled underneath the warm blanket of a dark gray cloud as it passes slowly by.

"You can practically touch the stars from here." he ends up mumbling, and Derek squeezes his fingers.

"I love you."

He knows.

\--

Derek doesn't tell Stiles, and he doesn't think he ever will, but he throws it out into the air so clumsily that he almost wishes that he could take it back. He's known it for a while, and though he tries not to believe it, he knows that Stiles does, too.

But there's one person, that mist floating so lazily around them, that woman of strength and determination, of beauty and mystery, that he's not sure of.

 _Well_ , he thinks, _a deal's a deal_. One favor for another.

And he knows that he's alone.

\--

The days of the week when he finds himself with Derek, Stiles ends up coming home late, and his dad frowns at him from where he's watching football on the couch.

"Where have you been?" his dad will ask him, and his concern is subtle -- he trusts Stiles, and he lets his make his own decisions, but he's a parent, anyway, and he's not going to let his kid go wandering around at night.

But Stiles ends up grinning at him and just says, "Out with a few friends."

The sheriff will narrow his eyes, but he'll shrug and go back to his football, and Stiles will go upstairs or make food or something like that.

When he drinks out of the carton the next morning, his dad will hit him off the head with the newspaper, and he'll know that he wasn't mad at all. Just worried.

And that makes Stiles happy.

\--

Derek still likes to spend the nights in the Stilinski household when he can, normally sleeping on the couch with Stiles wrapped up in his arms, surrounded by the darkness and dry heat of early June. The rain's long since stopped, and he somewhat misses the pattering on the roof, but he knows it would just keep Stiles up in the end.

Not that Stiles likes going to sleep in the first place. Not when Derek's around, anyway.

He ends up dipping his nose down into the curve of Stiles' collarbone and sighing. "You have to go to sleep eventually, you know."  
  
"Would you shut up for two seconds, you jackass?"  
  
Derek chuckles dryly. Same old Stiles, and he knows that he's where he should be. The sound of a motorcycle putters by on the street, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be -- the betas are all safe and the Argents have gone to their base, and here Derek is, half-asleep and --

"Jesus, can't you tell when someone's working up the courage to tell you that they love you too?"  
  
Same old Stiles.

He kisses Stiles' cheek and nestles further into the sofa. "It's four in the morning. Go to sleep." he says quietly, and can feel unconsciousness taking hold of him, even as he mumbles it.

Derek doesn't worry any longer about Stiles, because he knows it's just a matter of time until the darkness blankets over him, too.

Besides, Stiles never really stood a chance, anyway, did he?

\--

They still end up at the gas station together sometimes. They still share boxes of Skittles and make fun of reality television and have really great sex, but the thing Stiles misses the most is the movies.

They don't tend to do that anymore. It seems so weird, that they would have cut that part of their relationship out, because it's where they seemed to start off in the first place. But he's sitting here in his living room, with a dustless square on his coffee table where his DVDs would normally sit and nothing good in his cabinets to eat but half a bag of Utz chips and a few cans of Sierra Mist in the fridge.

Doesn't sound like much of a movie party to him. Plus, he's missing his sofa partner. Can't have movie night without a sofa partner.

The drizzle is actually pretty light tonight, and the June air keeps everything warm while the water cools down the steaming pavements on the streets and sidewalks. Dark is closing slowly over Beacon Hills and Stiles is left watching television marathons while his dad is out at a wedding.

That is, until a knock comes at his window.

He looks up, and his legs stand him up on impulse, without much thought from him at all. The remote gets knocked onto the floor, and he ends up half-walking, half-jogging to the window, where Derek's old leather jacket has made home in the corner of the room.

He's not sure why the window's locked, because it tends to not be. He flips the latch and slides the pane up, and he swallows the odd sense of nostalgia that washes over him. There Derek's standing, leaning against the side of his house, with that same condescending eyebrow-hitch that he wears so well.

Stiles doesn't know why, but he can't help but think that, for an ending, this isn't half bad.

And he grins when Derek holds a DVD case out to him and asks:

"So, have you ever seen _Silver Bullet?_ "


End file.
